


Goodbye Dr. Frankenstein

by NeuroWriter14



Series: Resurrection [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Difficult Decisions, Do not repost, M/M, What do you do when you've fallen for the enemy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28372287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: Harry and Voldemort are caught between two worlds and a war that neither truly knows where they stand in anymore. Torn between the war and each other, both much make a choice. Each other? Or their causes?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: Resurrection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997818
Comments: 34
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

"This is what you do for fun?"

"Well it's not quite murder and torturing fourteen-year-olds in a graveyard, but it's fun." 

Voldemort's crimson eyes fell on him with amusement as Harry's pawn moved forward, readying to take his knight. The pawn's swords drew from their holsters, swiping through the knight with ease and sending it flying off the board and toward the side. The knight huffed indignantly where it joined the few other pieces Harry had managed to take during their game of wizard's chess. He was surprised that Voldemort wasn't more competitive with him given that the game in front of them resembled the same war they had been playing at for years. Except Harry was often the pawn. It was quite fitting then that his pawn took Voldemort's knight. 

"Do you remember my first year?" He asked while Voldemort studied the board, readying his next move. 

"Some of it. I tried not to pay much attention. There was quite a bit I didn't want to see. Not that I could have." 

Harry chuckled. "There was a game of wizard's chess guarding the stone." 

"I remember," Voldemort's crimson eyes returned to the board after glancing up at him. "I also remember how fierce you were, even at that age. No one defied me. Not the way you did. Not even your parents." The other's eyes flitted back up to him. "I like a little defiance." 

Harry was certain his face flushed the same crimson as Voldemort's eyes as the other called his next move. If Harry hadn't been blushing so much, he would have noticed ahead of time that Voldemort's other knight moved to check his king. When he finally regained himself, still flustered, he knew he was one move away from losing. He pulled his king back a space and Voldemort's rook moved upward.

Checkmate. 

"I win." 

"Again," Harry huffed, ignoring the amused yet fond look in the other's eyes. Voldemort's wavy hair had fallen forward during their match, a few strands brushing just above his eyebrow. It reminded Harry of his sixteen-year-old self and he swallowed thickly. The pieces began to organize themselves on the board again, preparing for another match which Harry would inevitably lose. But it was still better than nothing. 

Voldemort turned the board so Harry would be the one to start this game. Harry looked at the board, studying each piece before he moved a pawn forward. 

"Where do you send your Death Eaters?" 

It had been two weeks since Harry had woken up in crimson sheets, finding himself not in his own bed but in Voldemort's. Since then, he had rarely been alone. Most days were spent alternating between spending time with his parents and every now and then a very grumpy Sirius, or spent with Voldemort when he wasn't dealing with the influx of Death Eaters every other day, and nights were spent in either his or Voldemort's beds where each was a welcome occupant. 

"Mostly they're looking for you." 

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course, the wild goose chases Voldemort was sending them on were to find the one person who didn't need to be found. It kept them out of his newly acquired hair and away from him. 

"Why are you keeping them away?" Harry asked carefully.

He had been trying to broach this subject for a week now and every time, Voldemort found a way to twist the conversation away from it. What would happen now? Where did they stand in regards to the war? Where did their marriage leave each other when it came to their perspective sides? He had tried every way he could think of to force an answer from the other, but Voldemort seemed steadfast in his stance. 

Not that Harry knew what that stance was. 

There was little they kept from each other, but where they were headed in the future that was outside these walls was still a mystery to them both. 

"Why are you talking about this again?" Voldemort was focused completely on the board now, the flirty mood between them gone. 

"Because you won't answer me." 

"I have answered you."

"Silence isn't an answer." 

"It is when there's nothing better to say." Voldemort scowled at the board. 

"There's still plenty to say." 

"Such as?" The other demanded, looking away from the board and finally at Harry. 

"When does this end? How does this end?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed but Harry continued anyway. "There are people out there fighting a war, looking for you and I both. And we're locked away in a manor while your Death Eaters run around the planet looking for someone they'll never find." 

"I don't know how this ends." He answered venomously. "Is that what you want to hear? I don't know. I never expected this. You." He stood abruptly, smoothing down his shirt and pushing away from the table they were sitting at. "I think our game is over." 

But Harry wasn't ready to let this conversation end. He stood from his chair as well, following Voldemort from the room. 

"So I'm the problem?" He demanded. 

"We are fated to kill each other," Voldemort answered over his shoulder. 

"What happened to 'I won't just live and you won't just survive?' Tell me why you started this war. Tell me why you decided to kill Muggleborns. My mother. My friends." 

Voldemort reeled around in the entryway they had made their way to from one of the many rooms in the manor. The way Harry could figure it, he had been there for months at this point, it was likely December, and he still hadn't seen every room. He mostly spent time in four of them, if the library could even be considered a room. 

"You know what it's like to grow up in a place where everyone hates you. To be around your peers when they scorn you or fear you." Voldemort waved his hand flippantly. "It was easy to motivate the purebloods in Slytherin to my side. If they wouldn't respect me, they would fear me. They were my way to power. So what if some Muggles and Muggleborns were lost in the crossfire." 

"So what?" Harry demanded, planting his feet where he stood inches from Voldemort. "You killed my mother." 

"And I brought her back!" 

"You used hatred to propel yourself to power." Harry continued. 

"You say that as if Muggles are good people." Voldemort snarled. "You know the people I grew up with. Look at your aunt and uncle." 

He had a point, but Harry wasn't willing to relent. "A few bad people doesn't make them all bad. There are good people too. You just wanted power and you took it from hateful people. And now you don't know what to do with them." 

"What do you want me to say, Harry?" Voldemort demanded. "What do you want to hear, Chosen One?" 

By now their argument had drawn an audience, but Harry couldn't be bothered with the four figures that were floating at the edge of his vision. At some point during the last two weeks, Voldemort had brought Wormtail to the manor. Harry supposed it was a kind of peace offering between them, giving Harry's parents a chance to deal with the man who betrayed them. Mostly he was just annoyingly underfoot as James and Sirius couldn't see him without wanting to explode and Lily had thrown several potions at him. It left only Harry and Voldemort to deal with him and he was genuinely surprised neither had killed him. 

"Tell me why you keep fighting a war you no longer seem interested in." He demanded in return. "Tell me why we have to stay locked away in this manor. Tell me what happens if you win the war. Where do we go?" He gestured to his parents and Sirius. "Tell me the place I have in the new world order you want to build. Tell me why you even bothered locking us together when you had no idea how to deal with the consequences. Tell me why people have to die." 

Voldemort focused on him intently, likely not even seeing the people who were still a good distance from them. "Then you tell me what happens if you win. Tell me where I belong after I tied us together. I'm not a good man, Harry. Do you really think I could be saved?" 

"Yes," Harry answered immediately. "If you wanted to be." 

Voldemort almost sneered at him, he could see the other's lips twitch that way, but he stopped before the look finally came over his face. 

"You don't have to be Lord Voldemort," Harry continued, softening his tone lightly. "People don't have to die." 

"I-if I might," Wormtail muttered from one end of the room, seeming suddenly much braver than Harry knew he was. But neither Harry nor Voldemort were in the mood to deal with him. 

They turned at the same time, looking at the man cowering by the front door, and snapped: "Shut up!" 

"Then what would you have me do?" Voldemort asked after a moment, looking back at him. 

"End it. End the war. Do the right thing." Harry knew he misstepped the moment the last words left his mouth.

Voldemort closed off immediately. 

"It's more complicated than that." He waved his hand at the front door which swung open. "You wish to leave? Leave." 

Harry had one last card to play as Voldemort turned away from him once more, ready to walk away. 

"Tom," He said softly. "It doesn't have to be like that." 

"I don't see any other way it could be." 

"You're just too stubborn to do what even you know you should!" Harry yelled, his frustration getting the better of him. 

"You would have me end a war because of _feelings,_ " Voldemort muttered the last word with venom as though the word itself were his sworn enemy. 

"Am I not worth ending a war for?" Harry asked, not caring about his audience. 

Voldemort stopped then as he had made it to the other side of the room, turning to look back at Harry who still stood in the middle of the room. 

"You are." 

Harry sighed as Voldemort walked away, leaving him in the entryway to deal with the chaos their argument likely brought. Though it had only been two weeks, much had happened and it would be made worse by Harry turning to face his parents and Sirius. Wormtail wasn't his concern, the man was likely living on borrowed time as it was. But while his parents had been understanding to a degree, neither approved of the strange relationship between him and Voldemort. And Sirius approved even less. The first time Harry and Sirius were truly in the same room, the other had made his disapproval of Harry's decision quite known. None of them, his parents and Sirius, knew the true nature of his relationship to Voldemort, but Sirius was more than well aware that all three Potters were marked by Voldemort as his, even if Harry's mark was different. And it only inflamed whatever rage was there before. While Sirius was quite glad to have his best friend back, the person who brought him back made Sirius wary. 

Harry turned to face his audience, gesturing to the open front door. 

"There." He said quietly. "You can leave." 

And quite frankly they should though he didn't know what would happen when the two previously dead Potters were introduced to the remaining Order members, who no longer had a headquarters. But it would be even less of a cheerful reunion when the marks on their arms were revealed. But Harry couldn't help but think that those marks were put there for him. They would fade in time, as Snape's had before Voldemort was resurrected, but the marks were what would keep other Death Eaters at bay. James and Lily Potter were marked by their master as one of his, no Death Eater would dare touch them. 

He began walking through the entryway toward the passage that would lead him back to his room. 

"You mean 'we' can leave," James said, following him as though he thought Harry might be packing up what few belongings he had. 

"No," Harry turned, feeling exhausted. "I mean you. Take Mom and Sirius and go."

"I'm not leaving without you." James insisted. 

"You should," Harry answered lowly. "This is your chance."

"And what?" His father demanded. "Just leave you here with him? I don't think so." Harry shook his head knowing his father was just as stubborn as he was. Neither would relent on their positions. "You think you can save him?" His father asked. "He very clearly doesn't want to be saved and you can't save everyone." 

"That's all I exist to do," Harry said quietly. "Save the wizarding world. Be the Chosen One." He smiled sadly. "I wanted nothing more than to have you guys back. It was always my greatest wish. So, I know how it feels to want to be loved."

"You are nothing like him," James muttered bitterly. 

"I am," Harry answered. "I was just lucky that I found people who cared about me. If I hadn't found Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys. If I didn't know that you guys loved me so much that you gave your lives for mine, I might have been just like him. Resorting to fear to scrape for the bottom of the barrel. Being feared because I thought myself unlovable. Gaining power because it's the closest I could get to being seen as someone. Standing on the backs of ambitious people so I wouldn't be the hated, scared, tormented little boy anymore. He grew up in an orphanage. I grew up in a cupboard. They hated him. And I was hated too. He just needs-" Harry cut himself off. 

"Do you love him?" He didn't even notice that his mother popped up behind her husband. 

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "But I know I can save him."

* * *

Harry had been staring out the window in his room for hours now. Day faded into night, the sun went down and stars filled the void it left. There was definitely one great thing about being in the manor and that was the fact that Harry could actually see the stars. Growing up with the Dursleys, he had never seen the stars, not really, for a variety of reasons. Even when he was given his own room, the light from the surrounding houses meant that seeing the stars was hard. Though he hated Astronomy, there was still something freeing about seeing the stars in the sky. It was one of the reasons he still took the class. That and it was easy enough to pass. 

No one had bothered him after he shut the door, effectively ending the conversation earlier. He didn't even know if his parents, Sirius, or Voldemort were still in the manor. For all he knew, he was the only one left. 

He hadn't fallen asleep in those hours though, despite his exhaustion. It seemed that everyone around him was draining him more than he'd experienced in the past. Or perhaps it was that, for once, he had a reprieve from everyone's expectations on him and so when he experienced it again, it was overwhelming. Or maybe his magic still hadn't fully recovered. 

He was surprised when the door to his room finally opened for the first time in hours. He turned himself in the bed, sitting up to see Voldemort standing at the door, staring at him. 

"I didn't think you would still be here." The man said quietly. 

"I didn't think you'd come." Harry pulled his knees up to his chest. 

"I was expecting to find an empty bed." 

"And yet you came anyway." 

"I did." 

Harry reached over and pulled the blankets back, opening up the bed for Voldemort to fill the space next to him. The other moved through the room slowly before he climbed into the space next to Harry, pulling the blanket over him. Harry lied back on the bed, turning on his side to face Voldemort. The other man looked at him, watching him closely in the darkness of the room. 

"What would you have done if I weren't here?" Harry asked quietly. 

Voldemort's brow furrowed. "I would have left." 

"What do you do at night?" Harry had noticed, because it was quite obvious, that every night when he went to sleep Voldemort was still awake and when he woke up, Voldemort was awake still. 

"Nothing," The other answered softly. "I don't sleep." Voldemort shifted as though uncomfortable before continuing. "I haven't slept since making my third horcrux." 

"Having a soul makes a difference in your sleep habits?" Harry asked, surprised. 

Voldemort smirked. "It would appear so." 

"Do you think the reason Dementors always find me is because I don't just have my soul, but yours as well?" 

"It would make sense," Voldemort answered quietly. "What do you hear when the Dementors come close?" 

"My mother," Harry answered softly. "She's screaming my name."

"Dementors make us relive our worst moments," Voldemort said quietly. 

"I just don't know if it's my worst memory," Harry said quietly. "Or yours." 

"I thought I might have a new worst memory," The other said softly as though he was hiding from the words. Barely speaking them was the same as never having spoken them. Harry moved closer to hear him, the two of them close enough now that Harry could feel the heat of the other's body. 

"What?" He whispered. 

"Coming to an empty room." Voldemort leaned forward then, pressing a soft kiss against Harry's lips. "I wouldn't care if the whole world burned down." He continued softly. "But the idea of losing you has suddenly become far worse than I had previously thought possible." 

"Then stop trying to push me away." 

"I meant what I said, Harry," Voldemort whispered, his breath ghosting over Harry's lips. "I don't know where to go from here." 

"Did you mean the other thing you said?" Harry asked. 

"What?" 

"That you think I'm worth ending a war for." 

Voldemort searched his eyes for a moment, the crimson of his eyes barely visible in the darkness. "Yes." 

Their lips met again and Harry felt himself being rolled so Voldemort was over him. He was becoming used to the other's body, the feeling of Voldemort pressed so close. But even this was a first. The first time they'd had sex, one wasn't really over the other. Both were on their knees and while Voldemort bent over him once, he hadn't stayed that way. The second time, in the library, Harry had been over Voldemort where the other seemed to prefer him. Even when they, or rather when he, slept, Harry had always found himself pillowed on Voldemort. Never the other way around. It felt like a strangely dangerous position to be in, but he wasn't fighting it. 

"Did you mean what you said?" Voldemort asked, pulling away to press a kiss against his cheek. "That you might love me?" 

"I said I didn't know," Harry corrected, feeling his face flame slightly. 

"But you know that wasn't what you meant." 

"I can't have just one thought to myself," Harry muttered teasingly. 

"No," Voldemort answered, but he felt the other's lips quirk as they came back together. 

Their bodies ground together, lips meeting. 

"Did you mean the other things you said? That you want to save me?" 

"Yes," Harry answered against the other's lips. 

"We don't fit in each other's worlds, Harry," Voldemort whispered. Though with every sentence, their lips would only part long enough to say it and then they would find one another again. 

"I know." 

"I don't want to give up my power. My ambitions." Voldemort moved to his throat, pressing a soft bite against his Adam's apple. 

"And I don't want to see the people I care about die." 

"Then I have a solution that will satisfy everyone and no one." 

"What is it?" Harry asked as the other began moving lower, peppering kisses against his chest through his shirt. 

"Ask me again tomorrow, little lion. This is not the night." 

And their lips met again.

And again.

And again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were inspired by this prompt from the lovely [MakotoJinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakotoJinx) :  
> a few years into Hogwarts Harry starts having nightmares. Nightmares about air raid sirens and bombs shaking the shelter he and the other orphans were hiding in every night.

Harry fell asleep with the weight of Voldemort, solid and unmoving, next to him. He fell asleep pillowed on the man's arm, feeling the other's chest rise and fall against his cheek. They had switched positions, Voldemort pulling away when Harry's eyelids began to droop from exhaustion. Harry was reluctant to feel him go, his lips still chasing the other's for a moment, until the man rolled him, tucking him into his side. Harry found himself nuzzling closer to the man who had tried to kill him since he was an infant. He found comfort in the grasp of the hands that had once tried to kill him, in the hands that had caused him so much pain, because now they were a source of comfort. He felt the other press a kiss against his hair as he drifted off, sighing slightly. 

That night, instead of dreaming of the man next to him, the one he could never truly escape, he dreamt of concrete rooms and Earth shaking rumbles. He couldn't see anyone, he could barely seem himself, but he could feel the ground shake under him, as though the earth itself were waking and breaking through. Whimpers and screams echoed around him, but were overshadowed by thunderous booms. Terror coursed through his veins, but that wasn't even the worst of it. That came with the deafening silence that followed. No one dared breath, or think, or move. Instead, all eyes, were glued to the ceiling above them. A concrete ceiling. 

With a crack right down the middle. 

When Harry woke the next morning, he was alone. 

It didn't stay that way though. He left the room for breakfast, as he had been the last few mornings, finally able to walk around more. Venturing to the kitchen was a quiet endeavor, but it wasn't quite when he arrived. Voices echoed off the walls and were far clearer when Harry opened the door. 

The sight that greeted him was far more surprising than the raised voices. 

James and Sirius were on one side of the table, the two of them being physically restrained by the much smaller Lily who was somehow holding them both back. On the other side of the table, lounging lazily, was Voldemort. His normally controlled chestnut hair was looser on his face, a few curls falling across his forehead rather than the usual one. His crimson eyes watched the three across the room, mostly with an air of amusement. James and Sirius were both mid-yell, one hand on either side of Lily, pointing at Voldemort accusingly. 

"What's going on here?" Harry asked, his voice still thick with sleep. But it was enough to draw attention of all the four occupants of the room as eight eyes shot his direction and voices silenced immediately. 

He wondered what kind of sight he made, having freshly rolled out of bed. His hair was probably standing in about fifty different directions, glasses lopsided on his face as he had just rubbed his eye right before entering the room. His pajamas, one size too big for him, were probably pulled at awkward angles. He knew his collarbone was exposed when James, Lily, and Sirius began looking him over carefully, as though they were worried any damage had come to him. He straightened his clothes and then shifted from foot to foot nervously. 

"What's going on," James seethed, his eyes eventually turning to Voldemort. "Is that, somehow, you two are married." 

Harry's eyes flew to his wrist, first looking for the snake which was currently curled at his bicep, and then to Voldemort. His wrist was resting lightly on the table, long piano-player fingers splayed out in front of him as the snake wove around his wrist, emerald eyes blinking at Harry for a moment, before disappearing back up the sleeve of the man's shirt. Harry still wasn't used to seeing him in anything other than a robe, but the man had been wearing mostly a pair of dress slacks and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up while in the manor. 

Today, he wore a maroon shirt which did not help the hypnotic effect his crimson eyes had on Harry as he looked at him before turning back to James. 

Harry stepped closer to the table from where he stood inside the doors. 

He wasn't certain what to be shocked about most: the nature of his and Voldemort's relationship starting to come to light, or the fact that his parents and Sirius were still in the manor. He stepped up to the edge of the table, making certain he wasn't more on one side or another. Merlin only knew what kind of ridiculousness that would start, and his poor mother was already holding back to people with very short tempers and taller bodies. 

Voldemort looked back to him, amusement evident on his face before his eyes focused more on Harry. The man shifted slightly, reaching out to adjust Harry's glasses on his face before sinking back into his chair. 

The look he gave the three on the other side of the table was no less amused, but was less fond. 

"Do you want to tell them? Or should I, little lion?" 

Harry let out a deep breath. He really, really didn't want to tell them. But it would be worse coming from Voldemort than it would from him. 

James, Lily, and Sirius looked back to him once more and Harry let out another breath. 

"It's not exactly as simple as that." He said slowly, gripping the edge of the chair in front of him so tightly, it would break. "I told you that I was a horcrux, his horcrux. And I told you that in my fourth year, he came back." Harry tried to choose his words carefully. He had never explained what a horcrux was, not that he completely understood it himself, but he never told them exactly what it meant. All they knew was that Harry and Voldemort were bound in some way, and now bound in marriage. "A piece of his soul lives within me." He raised his hand, fingers brushing over his scar. "That's why the Dementors like me so much."

Sirius was the only one who truly knew the depths of the situation, and he found as he looked at the man, Sirius nodding slowly. 

"And," He continued. "When he came back, he used my blood to do it." 

Sirius, though, should have known that too. Harry turned his arm to reveal duel scars on his forearm, but Sirius had seen one of them already. The wound he returned with the night of the third task. The second was one of many reminders of Halloween night, another scar given on that night except the second time, no one died. 

Harry's fingers flexed on the chair as he lowered his hand once again. 

"So that's it. There's no tearing you apart." James huffed. "Souls, blood, probably magic." He gestured to Harry's arm. "The only way to ever kill one of you is to kill both of you." 

Voldemort tensed. Harry knew exactly what he was thinking. 

For Voldemort, he would be thinking steps ahead to defeat his enemy. If they were in opposite places, and Voldemort was faced with the option of defeating his enemy but at the risk of sacrificing his son, he would do it. He wouldn't think twice. But James was not Voldemort, and while Voldemort seemed to understand some sort of love for Harry, he didn't understand the love a parent had for their child. His parents wouldn't kill him just to defeat Voldemort. In fact, he was certain that was the only reason Voldemort was still alive and not exploded by some wandless magic. 

Harry let out a breath, staring down at the table between all of them. 

"So now what?" He was surprised that it was Sirius who asked the question. 

"Now," Voldemort set down the cup that Harry hadn't even noticed he had and stood, straightening his clothes as he did. "You," He turned to Harry. "Are going to eat breakfast. And you," He turned back to Harry's parents and Sirius. "Are more than welcome to leave at any time." 

The man moved past Harry, his fingertips grazing over Harry's hip before the door to the kitchen opened once more. 

"I'm going to kill him," James declared. "I'm going to find a wand. And I will murder him." 

"Where are your wands?" Harry asked suddenly, the thought crossing his mind. It was immediately followed by a question he didn't voice out loud. _Where was his wand?_ He hadn't seen his wand since he fell asleep the night before Halloween, and the morning he woke up, he was in Voldemort's manor. 

"It's Wizarding tradition to bury wands with their owners," Sirius said quietly. 

"They're in your graves." 

Harry wondered what he would find if their graves were opened. Would there just be wands and empty coffins? Or would there be bones left after fourteen years of decay? Had Voldemort built them new bodies entirely, or did he somehow summon their bones too and then built flesh using Harry's blood? Harry was the product of his parents after all, and what little he did learn while in Muggle school told him that he had inherited much from his parents, though his looks conveyed that even better.

"I still have my wand though!" Sirius exclaimed triumphantly, pulling his wand from his sleeve. "You can kill him with this." 

James and Sirius shared knowing, mischievous smirks and Harry turned away. 

His parents should have their wands. Should leave to retrieve them. Only Harry knew something they didn't, and he wasn't going to tell him. Instead, he moved through the kitchen, finding the eggs and bacon that were cooking on their own and served himself a plate. He returned to the table, taking over the spot that Voldemort had previously occupied, and began to eat his food. 

Lily finally released the two of them, rolling her shoulders as she sat down across from Harry, huffing slightly. 

"I'd be more worried that they'll try to trap him. Or play some ridiculous prank. Humiliation first then murder." She sighed into a cup of tea that appeared in front of her. 

"They aren't kids anymore," Harry answered between mouthfuls of eggs. 

"Sirius isn't," Lily said looking over her shoulder at where James and his best friend were concocting a series of plans that probably would have given Fred and George a run for their money. "Your father and I," She sighed, her fingers running over the cup. "I'm 21. He's 22. And while we should be in our 30s, neither of us actually lived long enough to be there. One day, we were trying to protect you and the next, we're waking up with no clue where we are and a boy who looks strangely like our little boy but not." She signed. "We've never seen the world as it is. For us, we're a few years out of Hogwarts, fighting a war that never ended and an enemy who was once hellbent on killing our son, that now seems like he can't stay away from him." 

Her lips twitched slightly. "I used to do that to James you know." 

"What?" Harry asked around a mouthful of bacon. 

"Fix his glasses." She shook her head. "They would fall off his face all the time. He'd break them doing something ridiculous and then they wouldn't sit right. Or he would put them on hastily and I would adjust them." 

Harry could feel his face reddening. 

"I asked you if you loved him," She said quietly, keeping her voice low so as to not be heard by the two men behind her who were becoming increasingly louder and more absurd. Harry was certain he heard Dragon Pox at one point. "And I know you said you don't know. But do you think he loves you?" 

Harry set down his fork, his food suddenly tasting like ash. "What do you know about Amortentia?" 

James and Sirius froze. 

"Amortentia?" Both moved toward the table now. "Do you think he's used it on you?" 

Harry shook his head. "No." 

"Then why do you ask?" Lily circled her finger around the rim of her cup.

"Humor me. And then I'll tell you." 

She smirked slightly. Something about what Harry said had visibly amused her, but she didn't comment on it. Instead she shrugged. 

"It's a very powerful love potion. Or well, that's what it's marketed to be." 

"Marketed?" Harry asked around another bite of bacon. 

"It doesn't create love," James explained. "It only causes feelings of intense infatuation. It mimics love. But doesn't create it." 

"It has a distinct sheen to it, mother of pearl colored. Bubbly." Lily continued. 

"And smelly," Sirius chimed in. For the first time, there was no malice in what he said as he directed the words toward Harry. 

Lily nodded. "Yes. Part of the potion's appeal to the drinker is it smells like things you love." 

"Have you smelled it?" Harry asked. 

Lily's lips twitched. "Yes." Her fingers ran over the handle of the cup. Harry was beginning to wonder if he inherited his fidgety tendencies, not from his father, but instead from his mother who could never quite seem to sit still. "Professor Slughorn made it for the class in our sixth year. Advanced Potion Making."

"Slughorn?" Harry asked. 

"He doesn't teach potions anymore?" His mother asked, her eyebrows raising slightly. 

"No," Sirius answered instead, the malice once again in his voice but not at Harry. "Sni-Snape does." 

"Severus is the potions teacher?" She seemed shocked. 

"You know Snape?" Harry found himself asking, though he knew it was a silly question. Of course she knew Snape. They were probably all in Hogwarts at the same time. 

"Yes," She answered. "We grew up together." 

Harry choked on his bacon and his father thumped him on the back. 

"You-" He coughed again. "You grew up with Snape?" 

Her emerald eyes sparkled slightly. "We lived down the street from each other. His father was a muggle. You can imagine how much Petunia loved him." 

"Snape and Aunt Petunia-" Harry was speaking slowly as though those words, which he had several times in his life, were foreign to him. "Knew each other? Know each other? If I had spoken about Aunt Petunia in front of him, he would have known who she was?" 

"He would have." 

Harry felt himself becoming angry now. "You're telling me that all this time he thought I was a spoiled little git and I could have shut him up by telling him who my aunt was?"

"Did Sni-Snape," James seemed to be struggling with correcting himself the same way that Sirius was, but Harry didn't push it. "Know that you lived with your aunt and uncle?" 

Harry shrugged. "I don't know." He muttered bitterly. "Turns out I didn't really know anything." 

He wasn't hungry anymore, reminded of the food he had once been forced to cook for his aunt. His aunt, who had given Dudley mountains of food and presents but could barely deign to give him breakfast. His aunt who had showered Dudley with affection and locked Harry away in a cupboard. His aunt who had watched every slap or push or punch Vernon and Dudley had given, even dolled a few herself, and he had never known that she had grown up in the same neighborhood as his potions professor. 

"Harry," His mother began softly as he pushed away from the table. 

"I need a moment." 

He scrubbed his hands down his face as he left the kitchen, thinking about just how different things could have been if anything were different. If he had just told Snape about the people he had grown up with. Would Snape have hated him less? Would he have even been a little nicer, knowing the people Harry had been around? Why didn't anyone ever interfere? 

The more he thought about it, the more he remembered the very first letter he had received from Hogwarts. 

And the fact that it was addressed to him.

In the cupboard under the stairs.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry found his way to the library which was strangely empty. He was alone, for the first time in weeks, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself. 

So, he grasped a book, thinking of Hermione who would be quite proud when she saw he was reading of his volition. What did she think happened to him? What did Ron think? Were they still alive? Had they gone looking for him? What did the Order think? Did anyone think he was still alive? Were they holding out hope that their savior was still among them? Or had they given him up for dead? Was he the martyr for their cause? A cause he was expected to die for anyway?

He too had pieced together, a while ago, the nature of his tie to Voldemort. Voldemort had made his horcruxes in order to live because his greatest fear was death. But in order for him to well and truly die, Harry would have to as well. And that was an incredibly unfair thought. 

Voldemort, in all his reaching for power, had tied them together before he ever tied them with the ritual. A ritual Harry still knew very little about. 

He sighed, opening the book. 

But the words on the page swap before his eyes and he slammed it shut. Reading was useless right now, not that it was his favorite thing to do anyway. 

He looked toward the window. 

He longed to fly. 

He wanted to feel the wind on his face, the breeze through his hair. He wanted to feel the rush of a Quidditch game, to be free for just a moment from the worries that awaited him when he was on the ground. He hadn't stepped outside in months. He hadn't breathed fresh air or felt the sun. And his parents had it even worse. They hadn't felt anything like that in years. Maybe even before they were murdered. They had gone into hiding to protect Harry, he doubted that meant they ventured outside much. 

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep, longing for the sky once more. 

He dreamt he was still longing for the sky. That the world shook around him and sirens blazed as he was ushered deeper and deeper into the ground. The ground shook with every step, some booms far away and some so deafeningly close that his ears rang. He dreamt of falling dust that looked too much like dirt. And again, that damned crack in the ceiling. 

But he was woken by feather light fingertips and greeted with the sight of the stars. 

"Harry," He turned, finding the source of the voice and its owner with crimson eyes. "Come with me." 

"Where are we going?" He muttered sleepily, pealing the open book off his stomach. 

"Just come." 

Voldemort offered a hand and Harry took it, reluctantly following the older man. 

The two of them maneuvered silently through the manor until he was standing at the front door and for some reason, the sight of it made him freeze. 

Voldemort turned, the same feral, mischievous smirk he had in the bookstore in Diagon Alley plastered across his handsome face. 

"Come," He coaxed, tugging at Harry's hand. The other backed out of the house, dragging Harry along with him. 

"What about-" He began but Voldemort cut him off. 

"We're staying on the grounds. Somewhat." 

It was cold outside, colder than Harry was expecting. He shivered, curling in on himself before a series of small blue flames appeared around them, warming him instantly. He followed the other around the edge of the manor, the two of them walking the curve of the building until they reached what he thought was the side of the manor. It looked considerably smaller outside than it felt inside and Harry wondered if the same charm that was used to make the Weasleys' tent bigger at the Quidditch World Cup was used for the manor. Harry couldn't see the graveyard from here and that made the outside incredibly peaceful. 

He looked up at the stars, finding constellations he didn't even remember knowing above him. 

Voldemort pulled him closer, the two of them entering each other's space. The other's arms came around him. 

"What are you doing?" Harry asked softly, though he didn't stop his arms from wrapping around the other. 

"You wanted to fly," Voldemort whispered, dipping his head so their lips almost touched. "Let me give you wings." 

"What-" He was about to ask, only to notice that he was seeing a different part of the manor over Voldemort's shoulder. 

In fact, the more he watched, the more it came closer. 

The roof. 

And then, it vanished from his view entirely. 

Harry dared to look elsewhere, seeing himself and Voldemort floating in the night sky, high above the ground. The stars almost seemed closer as they hovered there, above the manor. The graveyard in the distance was merely a dark blip against an overall indistinguishable nighttime view. Harry turned his head to the other side, finding the rest of the village he had barely seen from the manor laid out and then the forest which met it. 

He felt himself smiling as they shifted, sailing slowly through the sky. 

"I like flying too," Voldemort confessed, his grip on Harry tightening. 

"You can fly!" Harry exclaimed, looking down at their feet to see what looked like a dark mist surrounding them. 

"I can fly." He noted the pleasure in the other's voice. 

Voldemort shifted Harry in his arms, turning him so Harry's back was against his chest. He wasn't certain how he stayed aloft during the shift, but he was certain that the view he was greeted with was worth it. 

The world stretched out endlessly before him. It seemed smaller than it had before, even the times he had seen it, first on a broom and then on the back of a hippogriff. 

"Does this satisfy your craving?" Voldemort asked in his ear. 

"Yes," Harry breathed, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs. "Yes it does." He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you." 

Voldemort's body stiffened for a fraction of a second before he offered a small smile. "You're welcome." 

Harry turned again as they began to lower, pressing himself back against Voldemort and wrapping his arms around the older man's neck.

"Why can't it always be like this? This simple."

"You and I are not simple people, Harry." 

"But this is. Right now, this is simple. It's just you and just me." 

Voldemort's lips twitched. "Just Harry?" 

He nodded, leaning in slightly. Voldemort followed his lead, leaning toward him as well. Their lips met, softly at first. But it didn't stay that way. Their kisses grew heavier and needier. The other's face was illuminated by the floating, blue fire around them, giving him a strange harsh yet soft look as he pulled away to press his lips to Harry's scar. The contact didn't hurt, surprisingly, and the overall gesture felt even more intimate. 

Harry shifted himself, finding that even though there was nothing solid under him, there was enough solid to allow him to jump and wrap his legs around the other's waist. Voldemort gripped him tighter, wrapping one arm around his upper back and hand in his hair, while the other held onto his hips, keeping him steady. Their shared kisses grew more frantic and heated and Harry found it harder to catch his breath. 

His mother wanted to know if he loved Voldemort.

He wanted to know the same. 

He wanted to know why he found comfort and safety in the very man he shouldn't. He wanted to know why he was so drawn to him and why he found himself returning to this strange, intimate connection over and over. He wanted to know why Voldemort found his exceptions in Harry, the one person he kept the closest. He wanted to know why the very taste of the other man left him wanting for more and why his touch ignited him. 

Harry felt a strange whoosh of wind and his back suddenly colliding with a bed. 

They were in his room. 

His slight distraction at realizing they had crashed into his bed was overshadowed by Voldemort's lips on his once again. 

" _-should say something."_

The voice broke through his mental fog. What if his parents walked in on them like this?

Wasn't this something other teenagers had to worry about as well? Was he normal for once?

The voices continued just outside his door, dragging both Harry and Voldemort's attentions to it. 

" _No. He won't leave. We'll go. Find our wands. And then we'll come back for Harry."_

He swallowed thickly. 

_"We can't just leave him here. With_ him. _"_

_"You saw them out there. You saw what I saw. Harry won't leave him. We'll have to tear them apart if that's what we want."_

_"We should just talk to Harry. He thinks he can save him."_

_"He can't. Not everyone can be saved."_

Voldemort's grip tightened on him. 

_"We'll come back."_

A pause. 

_"All right."_

There was an echo of footsteps followed by another, slower moving set. 

"You didn't tell them, did you?" Voldemort asked quietly, turning back to him.

The other was still on top of him from where they had settled upon entering the room. 

"No." Harry answered, feeling emotions charge upward into his throat. 

"Why not?" The other pressed kisses to the sides of his eyes. "You aren't protecting them." 

"I know." He whispered. "But they'll see it's for the best, in time." 

Voldemort rolled off him, their previous mood lost. Instead, he tucked Harry into his side once more. He clutched the other man, burying face under the other's chin. 

When he dreamt, he knew two things. One, he was seeing memories that didn't belong to him. 

And two, his parents likely would never be able to return. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry didn't know how it came to this. How exactly everything ended up this way. But he was certain it was probably going to end this way no matter what. What had been a tender moment between him and Voldemort ultimately ended up with wands at the ready and aimed toward the two of them. And ultimately, there was no foreseeable way out of it. Not with both of them. Not unless they did something drastic. Harry certainly knew that Voldemort was one for something drastic, he just hoped his dramatic side didn't mean Harry's parents would die once more. He had already lost them once and while part of him knew he would always lose them again in some way, he wasn't quite ready to bury them. 

But it came down to this. 

They were standing in the entryway to the manor, back to back. Harry was facing his parents, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore while Voldemort was facing Bellatrix, Lucius, Barty Crouch Jr., and someone else Harry didn't recognize. It was a stand-off, with Harry and Voldemort directly in the middle, where they had been for months now. 

He truly didn't know how this would end. And he wasn't quite certain he wanted to know. 

If the Order had their way, Voldemort would die. And if the Death Eaters had their way, Harry would die. And that was not a fate Harry or Voldemort wanted. Oh, Voldemort would certainly live. He would have one less horcrux and even less of a soul, but he would live. Harry on the other hand-

Well, Harry doubted that even the Death Eaters would be free of Voldemort's wrath. 

And what a curious thing that was. That Voldemort would be wrathful over his death. But Harry knew he would be. He was certain that, while Voldemort appeared saner than he ever had, it was Harry who was his current clutch on sanity. Who would be able to withstand if his only clutch of sanity was ripped away from him? He wouldn't care about ruling the magical world anymore. He would seek to destroy it. 

And so, they were stuck in quite a precarious position. 

Harry, who wanted to end this without bloodshed, and Voldemort would kill everyone in the room if it was necessary. 

He really shouldn't have been surprised that they ended up here.

* * *

**Two Days Earlier**

"What are you planning?" Harry demanded, staring at the empty ballroom with his only other occupant being Voldemort himself. 

Not like there was anyone else to occupy either of their time. The Death Eaters were always gone, scouring the globe for Harry Potter who was right under their noses the whole time. James, Lily, and Sirius were also likely in that hunt as well, given that they were no longer with Harry anymore and may not ever be able to return. Harry pushed that thought aside every time it popped up. They were ultimately safer away from Voldemort who could still unleash any number of torments on them. The marks on their arms would keep them alive when encountering Death Eaters, and there was no way Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore would let Harry's parents die once more. That left Pettigrew, who hid most days. Harry had seen hints of mousy hair, here and there, but ultimately if he entered a room, Pettigrew ran from it. 

So really, the only other person who could potentially occupy his time if Harry wasn't entertaining himself, was Voldemort. 

The ballroom was a massive room, with a crystal chandelier and unlit torches on the walls. The walls were crimson and the floor appeared to be marble, or rather what Harry thought marble would look like. It wasn't as though Harry had much experience with the finer things in life. His Aunt and Uncle weren't poor, they were quite well to do, but they sat firmly in the middle. They weren't the wealthiest, despite how they tried to portray themselves, but they weren't the poorest either. Taking on another mouth to feed meant nothing to them money wise, though that didn't stop them from giving Harry scraps. Dudley benefitted from his father's money the most, with presents that were often stacked to the ceiling on his birthday. Harry on the other hand had only ever received a gift for the first time at 11 years old. 

The Weasleys weren't exactly well to do, but they made do. And honestly, Harry appreciated that more than anything. They made a point of even if they had very little, to give what they could and it was a gift from the heart. 

He had no idea the house he would have grown up in, but from the memories he caught a glimpse of from Voldemort, he was certain he wouldn't have wanted for anything. 

Comparatively, Harry knew the Malfoys were on the extreme end of the wealth spectrum just from how Draco and his father walked and talked. He had also caught glimpses of Malfoy manor in Voldemort's mind, but mostly that was overshadowed by his hatred of the peacocks that screamed over the grounds. 

So, truly, he had no idea what marble would really look like. Yet he did know that the patterns in the floor were most likely from marble and the floor itself was so pristine, he could see his own reflection when he looked down. 

"Certainly you have been growing bored with your lack of stimulation," Voldemort said, arranging something on the far side of the room. "You aren't the type to sit still for long." 

"How do you figure?" Harry asked though it was rhetorical. 

"You have quite the penchant for trouble." Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at Harry who rolled his eyes. 

"As did you." 

Voldemort chuckled. "I suppose Dumbledore would tell you that." 

Harry heard what sound like static as Voldemort stepped away from the table. He was barely able to glance a needle dropping before music began filling through the hall. It was soft and melodic, without any vocals. Harry felt himself swaying lightly as Voldemort neared, stretching a hand out toward him. 

Harry took a step back. "I am a terrible dancer." 

Voldemort's lips quirked slightly before he grasped one of Harry's hands and hauled him closer. "I doubt you ever had the right partner." 

Harry forced down his blush as he felt the other begin to move and he began mimicking him, following where the other lead. 

"Let's think about the last time you danced, shall we?" Voldemort spun him and when he returned, his back was to the other's chest. "It was during the Yule Ball and you weren't going with your first choice. Or even your second choice. You waited so long to ask someone." The two of them stepped back in unison, Harry's back still against the other's chest and his heart hammering in his ears. "It was quite the stressful situation, and you had never learned how to dance. And certainly, you didn't want to attend, much less be the first to dance." Voldemort spun him again and they were suddenly face to face once more. "You're doing quite well now." 

Harry waded through a series of embarrassments to force the words out of his mouth. "Who do you think my first choice was for the Yule Ball?"

"Truthfully, I quite thought it was your friend, Cedric Diggory." Harry's cheeks tinged slightly at the words. 

"I-"

"You?" Voldemort prompted. "Didn't realize you were attracted to men as well?" He looked between them with a mischievous smirk on his lips. Harry spluttered but Voldemort continued. "Did you not find my younger self attractive. You were only 12 at the time and yet you noticed." 

"Well I-" Harry had no real defense and he was certain he had flamed as red as Ron's hair. 

Voldemort merely turned him once more, the two of them settling back together. 

"This is what you do for fun?" Harry asked, not so artfully changing the subject. 

"It's not quite Wizard's Chess is it?" Voldemort asked. "But it is quite similar. I do enjoy games of strategy, not that I've really ever had much time for games. But dancing and chess are quite similar." Harry opened his mouth to protest and Voldemort smirked again. "You don't think so? Do both not include you anticipating your partner's move? Are we not playing a gambit here? Every time I release you, you are of no obligation to return to my arms, just as you are of no obligation to take the pieces I set out for you." They stepped in unison to the side and then back, Harry so focused on Voldemort that he truly didn't pay attention to his dancing. "The only real differences I would argue are between chess and dancing, is that in chess you move others, whereas in dancing you move yourself." The other leaned forward, so his lips were next to Harry's ear. "And dancing is far more intimate." 

For emphasis, the other wrapped a hand around his waist and picked him up easily, spinning with Harry in his arms before setting him back down. 

"So, my original statement still stands. You didn't have the right partner." 

But Harry's mind was stuck on a previous statement, circling the word intimate like a hawk circling its prey. He couldn't not feel Voldemort's arm around him, and their hands locked together. He couldn't not feel the heat of the other's body and feel his breath as it ghosted across Harry's cheeks with every word. He couldn't not feel the weight of those crimson eyes that still hypnotized him. It truly should not have had such an effect on him, but it did. 

They were silent as they danced more, their eyes locked together. 

He could swear the air around him was crackling with energy. 

Their dancing began to slow, becoming less graceful as Voldemort's eyes focused on his more. He could tell that every thought in the other's mind was focused entirely on him, just as his every thought was focused entirely on Voldemort. 

He could see the other's tongue dart across his lips for a moment, a movement his eyes followed without him meaning to. 

They were swaying at this point, more than dancing, but Harry's grip grew tighter. 

Voldemort shifted again, picking him up once more except this time, he let go of Harry's hand. His hands dropped to the other's shoulders as Voldemort's eyes stayed locked with his above him, the two of them slowly lowering to the floor and onto a recently summoned set of blankets and pillows. 

Harry settled onto the other's lap, a rather familiar position, as he wrapped his legs around the other's waist, pressing them closer. He wasn't certain who leaned in first between them, though he was never certain who leaned in first. It seemed that the same draw that existed for him also existed for Voldemort. His hands automatically wrapped around the other, one moving into the other's wavy, chestnut hair. 

The other's lips soon moved to his cheek and then down to his jaw and throat. 

"I've spent years trying to shed a mortal form, to become greater than those around me." The other whispered against his pulse. "Yet I continuously find myself quite mortal to want you." 

Harry whimpered slightly, his grip tightening on the other's hair. 

"I think it's your fault," Voldemort whispered. 

"My fault?" Harry asked. 

"Quite so," Voldemort hummed. "You and your hormones." 

Harry spluttered at that only to suddenly find himself flipped, head on the pillow and Voldemort hovering above him. 

"I-I never- Before-" Harry stuttered, the embarrassment creeping back. 

"I know," The other answered. "It does satisfy a part of me that's incredibly glad to know that you belong to me." 

Before Harry could answer, the other was on him again, their lips crashing together. This kiss was far hungrier than their previous kiss and Harry's grip tightened again, his legs still wrapped around the other and forcing them closer together. The other ground down against him, bringing Harry's attention to his already hard cock. And Voldemort's. 

His hands began roaming, moving over the other's dark shirt to push it upward, to have access to his skin. Voldemort didn't even bother having them undress, as with a wave of his hand their clothes vanished off their bodies and were most likely somewhere next to them. But Harry truly couldn't care. The feel of the other's skin on his was electrifying and he arched up subconsciously, pressing them together. One of Voldemort's hands grasped his hip, holding him steady as he ground down, their erections brushing. 

The other's lips trailed back down to his neck, and Harry whimpered, though he wasn't certain what for. He just knew that he wanted the other there. His hand pressed against the back of the other's head while Voldemort trailed kisses over his neck. Harry whimpered once more, his nails digging in slightly to the other's mid-back. 

It was gentle at first, the feeling of teeth against his neck, and Harry let out a soft moan. That was what he wanted, he realized right as the other's teeth bit harder, biting and sucking into his neck just above his pulse. Their bodies rocked together, sensitive flesh brushing and sending shiver after shiver down Harry's spine as Voldemort stayed latched to his neck. After a moment, the other pulled away, his tongue gently soothing over the likely livid mark on Harry's neck. He would have a noticeable bruise there for a while, but truthfully, he didn't care. 

The other began to move lower, his lips and tongue trailing over Harry's collarbone before he moved down again. Harry let out a surprised moan as the other's tongue swirled over his nipple. It was a strange sensation, but he was certainly enjoying it. 

Voldemort switched, moving to his other nipple and repeating, causing Harry to arch slightly against him. But Voldemort clearly wasn't done. 

He continued trailing downward, pressing a kiss against his abdomen just above his belly button and then lower, tracing his pelvis with lips and tongue before nipping and kissing at his hip bones. Harry kept one hand in the other's hair, while his other hand was moving over the other's body, whatever he could reach, petting at him. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Voldemort's tongue ran over his cock, licking a stripe up the shaft. Harry moaned, his eyes fluttering slightly. He so desperately wanted to watch the other, but the moment Voldemort took his cock in his mouth, Harry's eyes fell shut. He bathed in the sensations, feeling the tight, wet, heat of the other's mouth as he sucked and bobbed his head. The other's tongue felt like it was everywhere as Harry's hand tightened in his hair. The moans he was letting out were obscene, but he couldn't help himself. 

He watched as Voldemort pulled off his cock for a second to suck one of his own fingers into his mouth and then he returned to Harry's cock, sucking with vigor. His hand moved lower, his finger circling Harry's rim before pushing into him slowly. He wondered for a moment if the other would do what he had done the last two times, somehow stretching Harry without ever really touching him. 

"No," Voldemort said suddenly, letting go of his cock and looking up at him. "I'll have you, but I'll have you right this time." 

Harry opened his mouth to respond when the other shifted slightly, sinking his teeth into the meat of Harry's thigh, sucking and biting another bruise there. His finger worked in and out of Harry slowly while his other hand stroked at Harry's cock. When he seemed satisfied with the bruise he left, he returned to Harry's cock, sucking more and stroking. Meanwhile, he added another finger with his other hand, this one having been lubricated likely by an unspoken lubrication charm. 

After a moment, Voldemort shifted taking Harry's cock fully in his mouth. Harry's body spasmed, arousal and pleasure running through him in tandem while the other quirked his fingers, finding that same spot within Harry that had him seeing white. 

The other didn't stay there long, but slowed his movements slightly, slowly sucking at Harry's cock while his fingers worked Harry open. 

He added a third finger after a moment, and Harry's hips were rocking of their own accord. Voldemort didn't stop him as he rocked down onto his fingers and then up into his mouth. Stars danced behind his eyes as Voldemort continued to stretch him and suck at his cock. 

He didn't know how long it was before the other deemed him ready, he only knew he was shaking and so close to the edge, it wouldn't take much to bring him over. Yet Voldemort didn't seem ready for him to be there yet, as he pulled off of and out of Harry, pressing another kiss against his abdomen before moving off him completely. The other crawled next to him before lying on his back. 

"Come here," Voldemort said and Harry scrambled to obey. 

He settled himself over the other, leaning down for a harsh kiss. 

They shifted, Voldemort holding his now lubricated cock still as Harry began to sink down, the other filling slowly and fully. He paused for a moment as he sank full, flush against the other's body. 

The other let him adjust before his hands fell to Harry's hips, guiding him as he had before. Harry had a better idea this time of what to do, though the firm grip of the other on his hips was more than welcome. His hands dropped to the other's wrists, bracing himself as he began to move with more confidence. The other bucked up into him slowly, following Harry's pace as he reacquainted himself with the movements. He could feel the strain in his thighs as he began to move faster, the other still following his pace and thrusting up into him. The other's crimson gaze was locked on his face, watching every unrestrained facial expression Harry had. 

It wasn't long until he grasped one of Voldemort's hands, shifting it so their fingers could lace together. He bent slightly, pinning their hands next to the other's head while his other hand braced just above his shoulder. It was easier to rock that way, using the ground below them as a brace, and his movements became faster. 

Voldemort was moaning now too, their moans coming in sharp spurts every time their bodies collided. The other managed to shift just slightly, and when Harry dropped this time, the other's cock brushed that same spot within him. 

He let out a choked moan, hearing Voldemort hum with satisfaction under him. 

Suddenly, Harry wasn't too happy with their position. With Voldemort under him. He wanted something else. He wanted-

He leaned down fully, pressing a kiss against the other's lips which was returned with heat. He used his position to wrap his other arm around the other and rolled them. The other seemed to understand what he wanted, helping him roll the two of them until he was over Harry. 

The other's thrusts became harder, likely somewhat easier due to the position. 

It was the first time they had been in this position, with Voldemort completely over him. Harry's legs wrapped around the other's waist, shifting his hips to meet every thrust. Their hands were still locked, only now pinned next to Harry's head instead. 

His fingers flexed in the other's grasp, leaving slight marks that faded quickly when he squeezed. He could feel the hard floor under his back, but ultimately it didn't bother him. It was certainly better than their first time and at least here he had a blanket and pillow between him and the floor. 

He wrapped his other arm around the other's shoulders. 

"More," He whispered, not really knowing where he managed to scramble his voice from, but he did nonetheless. "Please." 

His back arched as Voldemort snapped his hips forward, more of a question to see if that was what he wanted. He could feel the other's satisfaction at his reaction before he snapped his hips forward repeatedly, finding that same spot within Harry that made his vision dance. He would swear they were actually moving on the floor, but he didn't care. His nails dug into the other's shoulder and every sharp thrust pushed first moans and then broken whimpers from his chest. He could barely keep up in his answering movements, but that didn't stop him from trying. 

Pleasure rocked through him, falling into his toes and flying up into his brain, wrapping around it like a blanket. 

His lips found Voldemort's again, the two of them exchanging moans and then breath when their voices no longer worked. His hand moved back into the other's hair, their bodies rocking together completely. 

He knew the moment Voldemort's eyes opened and he forced his own open, meeting his crimson gaze. The other's eyes searched his before he let his head drop, their foreheads pressing together. 

Harry was bathed in pleasure so much that he had no idea where Voldemort's ended and his began. 

He came, hard, his whole body shaking. Voldemort came with him, the other spilling inside of him after one final thrust. 

Harry was shaking for a long time it felt like as they rocked together slowly through the aftershocks of their orgasms and eventually stopped altogether. Both were breathing heavily as Voldemort's weight pressed against Harry completely. The other's head was pillowed on his shoulder and Harry began automatically massaging the other's scalp. 

He didn't realize when Voldemort slipped out of him, he only knew he suddenly felt very empty. 

The other began to move, slowly, presumably to clean them up, but Harry's grip tightened. 

"Don't leave me." 

The other stilled and then settled again, this time shifting down slightly to pillow on Harry's chest. "I won't."

* * *

A few hours later, when they had cleaned up and Voldemort quite vehemently demanded that Harry eat, that Harry brought up one of the few things that was still circling his mind. 

"Where's my wand?" He truly doubted Voldemort would have taken him without his wand, given everything that their wands meant. 

"I have it," Voldemort said, his hand absentmindedly tracing the handle of a teacup while he looked somewhere over Harry's shoulder. 

"I want it back," Harry said bluntly. 

"You can have it." 

Harry froze for a second. He truly expected that he would have to put up a fight for the other to return his wand. He was genuinely surprised at the lack of argument. 

"I do, however, want you to answer a couple of questions first." 

There it was. 

"What?" Harry asked between bites of food. "Certainly you could just enter my mind and find the answers for yourself." 

"I could," The other confirmed, not that he needed to. They both knew that already. "But I want to hear you say it." 

Harry took another bite then nodded. "All right. What then?" 

"Why didn't you tell your parents that they likely wouldn't be able to find their way back?" 

Harry sighed and pushed the food away, his appetite suddenly gone. "Because, if I told them, they never would have left. And it wasn't good for them to stay locked up here. They would have stayed, I know they would have, and I love them for that. But they had been locked inside for years without really seeing the world. They died protecting me. They don't need to protect me anymore."

"You longed for parents your whole life, and when you have them, you're willing to let them go." 

Harry sighed. "I did want parents. I wanted to be loved and I knew they would. But I can't be selfish with them. I wasn't the only one who lost them. And-" Harry paused for a second and the other waited patiently for him to continue. "They'll be safer if they're not here." 

"You think I would kill your parents twice? After having worked to bring them back?" Voldemort asked. There was no hurt or anger in his voice, just genuine curiosity. 

"I don't think you would intentionally. And honestly, I don't even think you would. But you all would have killed each other. And then I would have been completely alone." He sighed. "I know it's somewhat selfish of me, to want you all, but there is a way I can have it. And I've never wanted something so much. Not like this. Not for myself." 

"There is nothing wrong with wanting for yourself, Harry." 

He shrugged in response. Part of him felt guilty, though he supposed that was partially due to his aunt and uncle's treatment. They made him feel terrible for wanting anything; like he was a burden for even needing food and a place to sleep. 

He shoved those thoughts away, seeing Voldemort's face harden. 

"What was the other question?" 

The other was quiet for a moment before he looked at Harry. "Our wands connected that night in the graveyard. Why?"

That was an easy question. Harry remembered Ollivander's voice clearly as he spoke. "The phoenix who gave its feather for your wand gave another. That feather is in my wand. They share a core." 

Voldemort's lips twitched then as he produced Harry's wand, twirling it between his fingers before setting it on the table between them. 

"Souls, blood, magic, wands." The other's crimson gaze flicked up to his. "We truly are linked in every possible way." Harry found himself nodding as he reached for his wand, picking it up and feeling it warm in his grasp. "Finish your meal," Voldemort said. "Then I have something else for you." 

Harry's heart flipped in his chest and he quickly shoveled down his food, even though he wasn't hungry. Voldemort watched with some amusement before standing and gesturing for Harry to follow. He did, wondering just what exactly the other could possibly have for him. 

Voldemort left him in a room, one of the ones Harry had yet to explore.

Nagini slithered by him and for a moment, Harry froze, fear pounding through his chest as the snake began to climb him. She was heavier than he realized as she wrapped her body around his, not trapping his arms, but rather purposefully sliding between them. She stopped when she wrapped around Harry's back for a final time, her head resting on his shoulder. 

_Warm._ Was all she said and Harry released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. 

"I see you've finally crossed paths with Nagini," Voldemort said behind him. 

"She seems to think I'm war-" He stopped mid-sentence, half turned to the side to face Voldemort, who was holding a white owl on his arm. "Hedwig?" 

The bird's head whipped toward him, large eyes widening when she saw him before immediately taking off and landing on his outstretched arm. She hooted at him indignantly, which he assumed was owl chastisement for having been away for so long. Her feathers ruffled for a second, hooting again before her whole body shook. When she quieted, Harry assumed she had finished her chastising of him and he reached out to stroke over her feathers. 

"Oh, I've missed you." He breathed quietly, hearing an answering chirp. 

_Food?_ Nagini asked from his shoulder, her head lifting. 

The sound Hedwig made reminded Harry oddly of a hiss which was quickly followed by Voldemort's 'no.' Nagini settled her head down once more and Hedwig ruffled her feathers once more. 

"She's been circling for days," Voldemort said. "I had to make certain she wasn't being tracked before I could give her to you." 

"How did she know how to find me?" Harry asked, stroking over her chest. 

"Animals are smarter than some humans, your bird most especially. I suspect she knew all along, and someone opened the door to her cage." 

"You're certain no one can track her here? And what about the-" He stopped not knowing exactly what to call the thought that jumped into his mind dramatically. 

"No one can track her here. And no one knows of any magic that's done here. I've done plenty of magic, strong magic, and yet no Ministry to check for underage wizards." 

Harry nodded, turning back to Hedwig who chirped again. 

"Can you teach me that?"

He was suddenly very aware that he was no longer in school. He would be well behind his peers given how long he had been away, and how terrible Umbridge had been before he left. He could only imagine how it was now. 

"I can teach you anything you would like to know." The other looked out the window and then back to Harry. "If you wish to learn, you should rest. You will need your strength for when you start using your magic again. You may not feel the same as you did previously."

Harry nodded. That was to be expected, he supposed, given that Voldemort had tapped into his magic to bring back his parents and change his own physical form. 

The other cocked his head at him before leaving the room. Harry trailed behind him. It didn't matter which room they went to, his or Voldemort's. They would end up in the same bed no matter what. 

It turned out the room they went to was Voldemort's. Nagini uncurled herself, moving back down Harry's body toward the fireplace on one side of the room. Hedwig left his arm, only to land on the headboard of the bed, fluffing her feathers and then settling slightly. It seemed she was determined to stay the night above Harry's head, where she could watch him. 

Harry slept better that night than he ever had in his life. 

* * *

The next day was spent mostly in yet another room that looked oddly like a dueling room. 

Voldemort was a strict yet patient teacher when it came to Harry, correcting small things like his hand movements and posture. He had lost track of all the different subjects they went over, everything from charms to Defense Against the Dark Arts spells, to some that Harry was certain was dark magic. They took a break around noon for Harry to eat and then they were back at it again, even going so far as to duel between each other. 

Harry was quite proud of himself that this time, his only spell wasn't Expelliarmus. 

He didn't win the duel, but he certainly did better than the time before. Truly he didn't win that duel either. He was lucky that their wands connected and everyone Voldemort killed returned to blind him and the Death Eaters for a moment. It was that which allowed him to escape with Cedric's body. Still, his escape certainly looked like he bested Voldemort, as the other's thoughts brought forth memories in which he could see the Death Eater's shock at Harry's escape. 

But those memories were quickly followed by other ones, which mostly characterized Harry's defiance. 

_I like a little defiance._

And it appeared that was true. When it came to Harry. 

Harry was nearly asleep on his feet by the time they stopped for the night. It certainly was one thing to train in school, where he had to write papers and learn hand movements before he could ever have tried a spell and it was rare that the professors had them attempting a spell for the first time on the same day in the various subjects. It was almost as though they coordinated, and he, Ron, and Hermione had speculated on it once, but it was difficult to prove.

Now, however, drilling spell after spell and casting over and over until he had every movement and every word down perfectly was far more exhausting than school had ever been. Yet he preferred this over writing essays. That being said, he certainly learned a lot more than he ever had in a classroom. 

Voldemort seemed to be brimming with knowledge and Harry couldn't help but think that if he wasn't the heir of Slytherin, he would have been sorted into Ravenclaw.

He earned a Stinging Jinx for that thought. 

Harry nearly fell face-first into bed, not that he knew which bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

The following day was shaping up to be like the day before, at least in the morning. 

Harry and Voldemort drilled spell after spell starting from sunrise until noon. The other corrected everything, watching him critically until Harry had mastered a spell. He could tell that the other was quite pleased with how _quickly_ he managed to master spell after spell, though to Harry it felt like it took hours. He remembered how long it took him to learn Accio, though in hindsight he learned a spell in one night when it took most people his age to learn it in weeks. 

By noon, he was already exhausted and half asleep in his lunch. He was certain though that Voldemort slipped invigoration draught into his tea though, as after lunch he was more awake than he had been even in the morning. 

The two of them were crossing the entryway, back toward the dueling room when Voldemort stopped abruptly, turning to face Harry. 

"You told me something the other day," He said. Harry wasn't surprised that the other's statement seemingly came out of nowhere. Voldemort managed to keep a few thoughts to himself, something Harry was still learning how to do. "You asked me not to leave you." 

"I did," Harry answered. 

"Why haven't you left me? I gave you a chance." 

Harry looked up into the other's face, searching his eyes for a moment. "Because I don't want to." 

"Oddly, I find I don't want to leave you either." Voldemort stepped forward, grasping Harry's face between his hands and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. "I don't ask for forgiveness, I never had. I learned early that it was much better to not be sorry because it would do nothing for me." The other stepped closer still before dropping first on one knee and then the other. "But I am afraid I have to ask you to forgive me." 

Harry was struck by the earnestness in the other's voice, an emotion he had never heard in the other. Then again, he never actually expected Voldemort to be able to make an exception to his every rule because of him. He never expected that they would be married, bound by magic, souls, blood, and wands. He never expected that he would find himself more than likely in love with the man who had tried to kill him so often, and yet when he had Harry at his mercy, he couldn't. 

"I forgive you," Harry whispered. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

The front door slammed open and several bodies came tumbling through it. Voldemort launched to his feet, immediately drawing his wand at the mess of bodies around them. Half had been thrown to one side of the room and half to the other. Immediately, Harry recognized most of them. 

His parents had found their way back.

* * *

Voldemort was never one for remorse. Why should he be remorseful? He, who had conquered Death. He, who had surpassed even the great Albus Dumbledore in strength and power. He, who would have likely made the entire wizarding world bow to him. 

Yet he was the same person who had found himself tied to a mere boy with a power he knew not. And truly, he didn't know this ability. He didn't know love until it was strangely foisted upon him from a boy with too much courage and not enough self-preservation with a heart overflowing with love and kindness. Voldemort despised kindness. He rarely saw it as a child, and when he experienced it, it felt more like pity. Except when it came from Harry. Perhaps it was the depth of their connection that he knew the other's kindness was genuine. That he knew the other's love, which he still had yet to fully accept, was real. Even Voldemort hadn't truly accepted his own love for the boy. 

Harry Potter was the last person on the planet he should consider loving. He was his prophesized undoing. He was the one person who could tear everything he had worked to build down. 

But Voldemort had fallen into the same trap as so many before him. He had fallen into the trap of so many in Greek myths who sought to undo their fate by purposefully subverting it. He had taken the prophecy all too literally, thinking that his defeat would mean his death and the loss of everything he had worked to build. 

In truth, that was what happened. He was Voldemort, he was the Dark Lord. And yet he was completely and utterly destroyed by Harry Potter. 

He had no room for remorse in his life. And yet he felt remorse. Guilt. Fondness. Love. 

He _felt._

He felt because of Harry Potter. Because he had tied himself so completely to Harry after learning their connection that he knew the other would be wound in him. He had hoped initially to use this to his advantage. Having the Chosen One on his side would have utterly obliterated his opposition. Their hero was his. Harry Potter belonged to him. 

And strangely enough, he belonged to Harry Potter.

He would never be _good._ He wasn't a good person. He wasn't Light or champion of love, like Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who was just as Dark as him, though he'd never admit it. 

But he wasn't exactly who he had been before. 

He didn't know who he was. 

But he certainly knew that without Harry Potter, he would be something completely different. 

These thoughts flew through his mind as he stood, Harry at his back, facing Bella, Lucius, Barty, and Dolohov. Harry was facing an equally dangerous crowd, composed of his parents, their friends, and none other than Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort wanted to kill the man right there, though he doubted that would sit well with the little lion at his back. 

There was a soft hiss and fluttering and Voldemort was suddenly aware of a tail brushing his shoulder. Harry's owl had entered the room at some point with Nagini in tow. His loyal pet crawled up his body as she had done with Harry only days before, wrapping around him. She settled herself, readying for whatever came. 

Voldemort didn't need to wonder how the lot of them had found their way here. Though it was impossible with the marks on James and Lily Potter, it was possible to potentially follow the Dark Mark back to Voldemort himself. It was a painful process that could even kill one. He didn't want his followers coming to him unwanted without a risk. In truth, Bella looked more warn than she ever had, and that included the days following her escape in September. 

They were all still and quiet for a long moment, everyone evaluating the situation they now found themselves in. He could feel Harry's thoughts churning, though he didn't let himself dive into them. He couldn't risk distraction. Not now. 

"Stand aside, Harry." 

That was Sirius Black, Bella's cousin and the only person in the world who could make her eyes flare the way they did. For a moment, Voldemort was tempted to step aside and pull Harry with him. He would let them kill each other and deal with all of their problems at once. But he knew Harry would never forgive him if his parents died a second time. So, he stayed in place, keeping his body between Harry and his followers. 

"No," Harry said, answering Black. Clearly, he was facing a similar situation and decided the same. 

"Ickle baby Potter," Bella cooed, his voice filled with menace under the sweet tone. "Decided to join our side?" 

"No," Harry seethed.

"Shame." Bella's eyes flicked to Black. "How about you, cousin? Coming home?" 

"Nowhere you are could ever be my home," Black seethed. "You are not my family." 

Bella cackled then. "Oh but dear cousin, we are family. Though I am curious as to how your other family returned from the dead. And with Marks as well. It seems they are on our side as well." 

This situation would not be escaped without bloodshed. That was abundantly clear. He had a choice, the same choice Harry had been asking him to make for weeks now. 

He rolled his wand between his fingers, not daring to lower it lest his followers take that as a sign to attack the other's in the room, including Harry. 

"Harry," Lily Potter said to her son, her voice soft. "Please. I know-" She cut herself off after a moment, thinking around her words before she continued. "I know how hard this must be. But you know what's right. You know what has to be done." 

It took everything Voldemort had not to snarl. The "right" thing would mean Harry's death. And he wouldn't tolerate that. 

Harry stayed in the same spot behind him. 

"Harry," James Potter now tried. "Please." 

Voldemort was slightly surprised at Dumbledore's silence, but he partially thought it was because the man was smug in his silence. He wanted to believe he was right all along. Yet he wasn't. Not exactly. 

Pettigrew entered the room, likely having come to see what all the ruckus was about. Voldemort's eyes flicked to him for a second, seeing him standing just adjacent to those who had been his most loyal followers. 

It was truly his choice to make now. Harry wasn't moving, he wasn't leaving. He wasn't standing aside even when his parents asked him to. He kept himself directly between them and Voldemort. Harry had made his choice, it was abundantly clear. When it came to it, he chose Voldemort. 

And he was going to choose Harry in return. 

He supposed he could kill five birds with one killing curse. 

Harry tensed behind him and he knew the other had caught onto his train of thought. He gripped his wand tighter. 

Shame he couldn't kill Dumbledore. It would be some consultation to rid the world of the smug old man. But he wouldn't. For Harry. 

He didn't bother speaking it, he wouldn't let anyone know what was coming. 

Ultimately, it was more like a whip of a spell, the emerald shooting out from his wand and hitting not one, but all of his followers — and Pettigrew — at the same time. Harry ducked as his arm whipped out, ultimately killing five as he turned. The other stood just as quickly as he dropped, pressing his back against Voldemort's chest, and just as quickly, they were gone.

* * *

**Sometime Later**

"We've kept your secret for years, Harry," James said, sitting across from him at a cafe in Prague. "No one knows where you are or where we go when we come to meet you. The least you can do is tell us where you're living now." 

Harry chuckled to himself. They had asked him the same thing every time they saw him, which was pretty much once a month in various cities around Europe. He and Voldemort, now going by Tom once again, had settled in Paris some time ago and it was quite easy to lose themselves. Harry often covered his scar so most never knew who he was. It was truly astounding how often he was recognized from his scar alone. He still did it, mostly out of habit, but no one was really looking for Harry Potter anymore. 

Not that he was living as Harry Potter anymore. 

He was Harry Riddle now, both he and Tom living under new names. The other had hated the idea of going by his real name again, but both knew that Dumbledore, though often one for broadcasting Voldemort's real name, wouldn't truly expect him to ever go by Tom Riddle once more. And he certainly wouldn't expect Harry to take on the Riddle name, symbolizing the marriage that only five people in the world knew about. 

At first, he didn't see his parents. He didn't see his friends either at first. He heard the war had become bloody after they left, yet it seemed that ultimately the Order triumphed.

Hermione had managed to enter the Ministry of Magic where she began to work on major systematic changes to the system. Harry still had a SPEW button from the very beginning of October from so many years ago. She was likely next in line to be Minister for Magic. Tom was also working his way through a Ministry, except for them it was the French Ministry. Both Tom and Harry knew that in public they would have to exist under a glamour lest people recognize them and another war start all over again. Tom had his power and satiated his ambition in the French Ministry, charming his way through the ranks until he was more than likely to be the next French Minister for Magic. Ron became an auror, and he and Hermione were happily married with two kids. 

It took some time after things cooled down for Harry to finally reach out to his parents and then his friends. He only agreed to meet Ron and Hermione, he wouldn't see anyone else, and in return, they kept his secret. He partially worried that someone would try to follow them when he went to meet them again after so long. But they reunited without any trouble, and still met basically every month as Harry did with his parents. 

Lily was currently bouncing Harry's younger sister on her lap. She was three years old, and it wasn't exactly like Harry's parents were old. So he wasn't exactly surprised when his mother came to one of their monthly lunches with a swollen belly. Her name was Violet. 

Harry answered his father as he always did, telling him that he couldn't say. He had tried over the years to hopefully bring Tom to one of the lunches, and he had succeeded with Ron and Hermione, but his parents certainly hadn't forgiven and hadn't forgotten, no matter the fact that Tom chose Harry in the end. 

He stopped trying to persuade them to let Tom come eventually. 

Instead, he accepted his little sister when she reached for him, continuing small talk and casual, non-specific conversation about how his life was going. He loved his parents dearly, and being able to even eat lunch with them was something he couldn't have even dreamed of when he was younger. But some things were meant to stay separate, and Harry's parents and Tom were one of them. 

Eventually, he bid them goodbye and left far enough away to apparate where they couldn't see him. 

"How was your lunch with your parents?" Tom asked when he entered, kicking his shoes off just inside the door. 

"It was good. Violet's getting big." He pulled off his jacket as he spoke. 

"Your parents still don't want me there?" 

Harry shook his head. He knew Tom didn't mind, but he would have endured a lunch with Harry's parents for Harry. 

"You would think after all these years-" 

Harry rolled his eyes. It hadn't exactly been that long, but it was certainly long enough that neither of them was the person they were the day they left the manor. 

"Don't be grumpy, old man." Harry chided softly. 

Tom's crimson eyes turned to him. In public, he glamoured his eyes, but with Harry, he didn't bother. He was grateful. Even after all this time, his crimson gaze still hypnotized Harry. 

"Old man, am I?" He challenged, standing from the chair he had been in, his various papers spread around him. 

"Yes," Harry answered playfully. 

Tom stalked toward him, stepping around Nagini at the fireplace, to near Harry. He bent, wrapping his hands around Harry's thighs and lifting him. Harry jumped at the same time, wrapping his legs around the other's waist. 

"Let me show you what an old man can do." 

Harry laughed before pressing a kiss against the other's lips. They moved into the bedroom, Tom already devouring him even though they had only been apart for a few hours. 

He sighed contently as he landed on the bed, Tom over him. 

"What is it?" The other asked, kissing his jaw. 

"I love you." 

"I love you too, Harry." 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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